


But it's Stiles

by iwritestuff (Sharlown)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, I really like AUs okay, I'm sorry I'm not sorry, girl stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharlown/pseuds/iwritestuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Stiles is the Sheriff's daughter instead of his son, and she's equal parts badass, awkward, confused, and HBIC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Definitely in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually written a genderbent character before. I blame my friend Jess although I can't actually remember which one of us came up with the actual idea for this first.
> 
> This takes place after Season 2, so spoilers, but if you're reading Teen Wolf fanfiction before being properly caught up on Teen Wolf then I don't know if I feel all that sorry about spoiling it for you.
> 
> Intros are weird, so I didn't write one.

          “Dude! What are you doing!” Scott shouts indignantly.

          “DUDE!” I reply with a glare. “I’m fixing my friggin boobs! You made me run all this way and I’d prefer to not let my nips slip in front of a sea of keen werewolf senses.”

          “Ugh, Stiles, seriously?”

          “YOU DON’T HAVE TO LOOK,” I shout. Scott huffs and turns his back but by then I’m already safely readjusted. I walk past and slap him on the shoulder. Then I pretend it doesn’t hurt like hell ow ow stupid werewolf ow.

          “So what now?” I say, taking a deep breath and putting my hands on my hips. It makes me feel a bit like a superhero and less like the annoying sidekick. Then I survey my dangerous surroundings.

            Yup, those are trees. Ah, a stick, how interesting. This is definitely the woods. We are in… the woods…

            “Derek said he’d be here,” Scott grumbles. “But I can’t smell him.”

            I snort. “Do you sniff people often?”

            “No,” he recoils. “It’s just… It’s—“

            “It’s a werewolf thing.” I wave my hands around to add to the spook factor. “Yeah, Scott, I know. I’m just busting your balls.”

            He frowns. “Derek said he’d be here. I don’t understand why he’s not.”

            “Maybe he got distracted by a squirrel or something.”

            “He’s too moody for that,” Scott shakes his head. “It would have to be like some sort of giant mutant squirrel that eats small children or something.”

            “Or maybe it eats leather jackets.”

            Scott laughs. Then his cell phone rings.

            “If that’s Allison and you pick up I swear to God…” I don’t even have to say what I’d do and he still looks terrified.

            “It’s Derek,” he says.

            “Well answer it and tell him to get his furry ass down here!”

            Scott nods. “Where are you?” he asks once he’s accepted the call. All I can hear is scratchy growling from the other line, though I guess that’s pretty much always what it’s like when Derek talks.

            “No, you said we would meet at the house,” Scott whines. “I thought you meant _your house_. How is Stiles’ house ‘the house’?”

            “Hey hey, woah, Derek is at my house?” I practically tear the phone out of Scott’s hands when he nods. Haha, I can still get the jump on a werewolf sometimes.

            “Derek, get out of my house!” I yell into the phone.

            “What? Scott—” he sighs heavily. “I can’t get out of your house, Stiles. There’s some kind of spell on your room and I. Can’t. Leave.” He growls out the last bit but I don’t really care because I’m too busy reveling in my own awesome.

            “Holy shit, it worked!” I smile, pumping my fist in the air.

            “What worked?” Derek snaps. “Stiles, what did you do?”

            “I read about it online,” I explain. “After all the stuff Deaton said about Mountain Ash and stuff I decided to look more of it up. I found this thing that’s supposed to be a werewolf trap. It draws them in through my window then it snaps shut and BAM! One doggy in a cage. I thought it might come in handy since we don’t actually know when the Alphas are going to attack or who they are or anything really because _someone_ hasn’t been holding up their end of the research. But that’s alright. Good old Stiles is here to take care of you little wolfies.”

            I can hear him grinding his teeth together. “Your plan was to lead the Alphas _to your house_?” he growls. “What if you had been here, Stiles? What if I was one of those Alphas and you had been here?”

            “I don’t leave the trap up when I’m not there,” I promise. “It’s to protect my dad who maybe _is_. And besides, if it worked on you then it can work on them. And what the hell were you doing at my house in the first place? Oh my God, did you come to _check on me_? Aw! Der! That’s so sweet!”

            “I didn’t come to check on you and don’t call me that.”

            “Hey, Scott, can you tell if he’s lying over the phone?”

            Scott shakes his head and Derek groans. “Isaac was running past here earlier looking for the Alphas and he smelled something strange coming from your window. What even is that smell?”

            “A whole bunch of stuff. I can find you the recipe if you want.”

            “No, I don’t want the recipe! Just…” He sighs and I can almost hear the sound of his eyes rolling. “Come undo this stupid thing so we can get back to searching for the Alphas.”

            I’m about to yell at him about how my trap is not stupid when Scott steals his phone back.

            “We’re on our way,” he says, and hangs up. “Come on,” he says to me. Then he’s darting off into the woods again and I am regretting my choice of a non-sports bra even more with each passing second.


	2. The Avengers Assemble (sorta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get out of the woods and we meet us some Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sorry.

          “Oh sweet mercy!” I cry, flinging myself on the hood of my Jeep – my savior and the only thing keeping me from having to run all the way home.

            Scott doesn’t even give me a second to enjoy the beautiful moment before he jumps in the passenger seat and barks “Come on, Stiles!”

            Heh. Barks.

            “Alright, alright,” I wheeze. God, I’m out of shape. Benchwarming doesn’t burn nearly as many calories as I need it to if this is the kind of surprise cardio I’m gonna get to look forward to from the Alpha situation.

            I haul myself into the Jeep through sheer force of will and the thought that friggin Derek Hale is in my bedroom right now probably rearranging my CD collection or something because he’s the sort of heartless bastard that would do something like that. Although, I guess if I had caught an Alpha non Derek instead I’d probably have more damage to deal with. Didn’t think of that. I should probably move everything to the guest room then. But I keep my extra books in there, though. I guess I can move them to my room but I’m totally getting Scott or Derek to help because we’re talking shelves and shelves here. I’ll make Derek do it since he got all mad that I put it in my room in the first place. Stupid Alpha with his stupid face.

            We make it to my house in record time. No police cruiser in the driveway, so dad’s working late again. I should bring him dinner later so he doesn’t just order pizza. He thinks I don’t see those receipts but I do. I have eyes everywhere.

            Before I can even get the engine off, Scott is dashing out of the car and into the house at werewolf speed. Right, yeah, Scott, just rub it in. I take my sweet ass time making my way upstairs to free Derek, just because I know that both wolves can hear me and neither one of them can do anything about it. It’s little moments like these that make my day worthwhile. Eventually I reach the top of the stairs where Scott is wolf-perched outside my door practically scratching at it to get in.

            “You good, buddy?” I ask. He’s wolfed out, but he’s not attacking me so I think he’s in control.

            “It smells _amazing_ ,” wolf-Scott says.

            “Um, yeah,” I say. I wiggle around him and Scott backs up enough to let me get to my door, but only _just_ enough. I know Scott can’t get in because there’s Mountain Ash in the doorway, but I still feel the urge to tell him to stay as I wiggle past him into my room.

            And… there’s Derek Hale covered in my bras.

            “UmDerekwhat,” is all I manage to say. He stands up and tries to fling the garments off himself, but one of them gets caught in the zipper on his jacket. He growls and yanks it free. I hear fabric tearing and he looks almost sorry for a second.

            “I… was trying to find the smell,” he grumbles. He has full sour-face going on.

            And suddenly, putting werewolf bait in my underwear drawer seemed less like a genius ‘who-would-ever-look-there’ idea and more of a terrible ‘oh-wait-werewolves-can-track-smells-forgot-about-that-wow-this-is-awkward’ idea.

            “O-Okay,” I stammer, turning away to hide my blushing. Dammit, Stiles. I quietly reach down and break the line of Mountain Ash just inside my doorway. Scott is barreling through before I can even stand back up and I fall on my ass. Gracefully.

            Scott looks from Derek, to me, to my bras scattered everywhere, back to Derek. He grimaces. “Dude, what the hell?”

            Derek rolls his eyes. “I was just trying to find the smell, that’s it!” He takes a step forward and another one of my bras catches on his shoe. “Dammit, how many of these things do you own?!”

            Scott’s growling protectively. Ugh. I knew he would do this if I ever managed to get someone to look past my crippling awkwardness long enough to want to date me. Scott is like my brother. When guys pulled my pigtails in preschool he helped me chase them with sticks. When some guy in seventh grade asked me out as a joke and stood me up, Scott punched him in the face for me. He’s always been protective of me, even more so since my mom died. I knew if anyone ever tried to date me he’d freak out and try to turn it into some weird dick measuring contest, but dammit, Scott. The first person you do this with does not get to be Derek friggin Hale. I’m putting my foot down because I want a redo. At lease save this for someone who actually finds me _tolerable_! Derek is like super-president of the Stiles is a stupid human why did you bring her she ruins everything fan club. They all have matching scowls and leather jackets.

            Derek growls back in his ‘I-am-the-Alpha’ way, but Scott isn’t backing down. They take half a step towards each other and I scramble to my feet to prevent catastrophe or at least the ruining of the delicate semi-organization of my room. Dammit, two boys fighting over me in my bedroom, and I don’t even get to make out with either of them – this might be the worst day of my life. I hold out my hands to keep them from moving any closer (and I would be lying if I said I’m not disappointed that I get a hand on Scott’s chest but Derek backs away before I can touch him because that’s just not fair).

            “Hey now, let’s just take some calming breaths. Let’s just hug it out, okay? Okay! Come here!”

            I hold up my hands and motion for them to come hug me, but they’re both glaring at each other. I drop my arms. “Yeah, didn’t think so,” I sigh.

            “Why don’t you just tell us why you wanted us here in the first place,” Scott says, but it sounds like a threat. Derek arranges his face into a somewhat more agreeable grimace and I relax a bit.

          “We managed to narrow down the Alpha Pack’s possible locations to a few parts of the nature preserve,” Derek says, sounding almost smug. He crosses his arms and leans back slightly, regaining his confidence. I try not to laugh when I notice that a tiny piece of dalmation-printed bra fabric is still caught in the zipper of his jacket. Derek and Scott are too busy vying for America’s Next Top Sourwolf to notice me cover my mouth with my hand to hold in the ugly laughter.

            “So this is just an update?” Scott whines, and I just know he’s thinking he gave up an afternoon of pining after Allison for this. Just knowing he’s thinking it makes me want to hit him. “Couldn’t you have just told us on the phone?”

            “No,” Derek says. He purses his lips like he’s trying to keep himself from saying what he’s thinking. I know that feeling. I have it a lot around Scott. “I came because I need to know if we’re working together on this or not.”

            “I told you I’m not a part of your pack,” Scott bristles.

            Derek winces. I wonder if that really does hurt an Alpha – to be rejected by a Beta. For a second I feel sorry for Derek, but then I remember he’s also kind of an asshole and I get over it.

            “I know,” Derek says. “But we should still train together. We probably don’t stand a chance in a fight with them when we’re all working together, but we definitely don’t stand a chance if we’re fighting each other before they can even get to us.”

            “So you just expect me to trust you after everything that you’ve done?” Scott scoffs, and I think that’s a little uncalled for.

            Derek definitely looks like he’s in physical pain now, but that could be because this is probably the closest Derek Hale will ever get to asking us for help. Well, asking Scott. No one ever really asks me for help. I just sort of show up anyway, like the extra prize in your cereal box.

            “Boyd and Erica got caught by the Alphas after they escaped Gerard,” Derek says quietly. I flinch, my hand automatically flying up to my cheek where he hit me and I passed out. I’m not happy that he’s dead, exactly. It’s like cold water in my veins just to think about him, though, thinking about the words he said. _Useless Stiles. Everybody’s out saving my granddaughter and Scott’s mother, and who do you have? No one. You’re just their pet. A dog for the dogs. What makes you think they care about you, huh? I’d bet they haven’t even noticed that you’re missing. I could kill you right now and who would know? Who would tell the Sheriff?_

            I’m not happy that Gerard is dead, but I am a little relieved.

            “When we found them they were half dead,” Derek continues, no emotion in his voice, not even anger. I think that’s what is the most unsettling – the lack of anger. Derek is always angry. “Even with wolf healing it was weeks before they woke up. And technically since they were running away they were Omegas, so it’s not an attack on my pack.”

            “But it is!” I protest. Derek looks over at me and I try not to shrink under his glare. I look at the windowsill instead of his stupid face and I continue. “I mean, they still smelled like your pack, didn’t they? The Alphas must have known who they were.”

            “It doesn’t matter,” Derek says. “I can’t challenge them. They were technically within their rights.”

            “But it’s just a technicality!” I say, looking back up at Derek again because I can’t help it and yup he’s still looking at me hi Derek. “They’re trying to provoke you.”

            “I know,” Derek says. It doesn’t sound like he’s talking down to me, though, and it catches me a little off guard. Derek takes a deep breath and I can see the bags under his eyes and his shoulders carrying even more stress than usual and I know he has to be killing himself over this. If I’ve learned anything about Derek from the year he’s been back in Beacon Hills, it is that Derek is very good at blaming himself for things that are only partly-tilt-your-head-sideways-blink-and-you-might-miss-it-sorta-kinda his fault. Not for the first time I wonder how he’s managed not to snap in half by now.

            “So, what do you want me to do?” Scott asks. He still sounds rebellious, but his voice has lost its edge. Aw, Scott, you big ol’ softie.

            “I just want to protect my pack as best I can,” Derek says. I don’t even need to hear Derek’s heartbeat to know that’s probably the most honest thing he’s ever said to us.

            I nudge Scott in the ribs, because if he doesn’t say yes, I will.

            “Fine, but I’m not joining your pack,” Scott says.

            _Not yet_ , I hear somewhere in the back of my mind. _Not yet, but you will._


	3. Friggin Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jeep makes its first appearance, along with Boyd (but I know everyone's more excited about the Jeep).
> 
> The chapter in which Scott is kind of a shit friend but we keep him because he's a puppy.

          Three days later I hate myself for ever thinking that trusting Derek was a good idea. I hate myself and I hate Derek. I also hate rain because it makes mud. Mud which is everywhere around Derek’s… is it even a house? Can I call it a house? Derek’s residential structure. And my poor defenseless Jeep which has taken more than a few hits for the good of were-kind is stuck in that mud exactly the way it wouldn’t be if I had managed to convince Scott that Derek is a shifty bastard like I was meaning to. I was totally thinking it the whole time he talked. I was.

            And where is my best friend in furry armor? He is already with Derek doing training things. For all the trouble I’m going through I hope Derek at least manages to teach Scott to come when called because I’ve left like six voicemails and it’s been an hour and I wonder if itching powder still works on werewolves because I know where Scott keeps his clothes. I look like the creature from the mud lagoon right now. Mental note: give Scott a huge hug before I wash the mud off. My entire body is sore from trying to push my Jeep out of the mud. It’s still raining, so every time it moves forward even a little, when I let go it just rolls back into the same mud hole which is getting deeper every time I try to push my Jeep out. This is ridiculous, Jeep. You are an all-terrain vehicle. You should totally be making this mud your bitch right now. With my luck it’s probably not even mud. It’s probably some kind of super rare and poisonous quicksand that I’ve discovered here entirely by accident. I was wrong. I’m not just the side kick. I am a superhero and my power is having luck so bad that it has to be some sort of supernatural gift. I am Captain Murphy’s Law – I take your problems, make them mine, then make them ten times worse. Tip your waitress, I’ll be here all week.

            I start to laugh, but then I just want to cry because I probably will be in this stupid ditch all week.

            Stupid Derek. Stupid rain. Stupid mud.

            I collapse in a heap of exhaustion behind my Jeep. It makes an angry hissing noise and sinks deeper into the mud without my body to press against it, but I refuse to care. I lie back with my arms and legs outstretched and I make a snow angel in the mud. A mud angel. Because it’s been one of those days.

            “Um… Stiles, is that you?” someone calls. I don’t know who it is but it’s not Scott, so I’m definitely buying a fuck ton of itching powder then next time I go to the store.

            “Yes,” I call miserably.

            “Are you okay?” it asks. The person moves close enough that I can see him from my spot on the ground. Hello, Boyd.

            “Probably,” I grumble. You can never really be sure, though. I feel fine, but I’ve probably managed to pick up a disease from this mud and I’m dying but just can’t feel it yet.

            Boyd looks from me to the Jeep and back again. Then without a word he walks behind my Jeep and pushes it out of the mud like I’ve been trying to for so long. I’m so relieved that I barely even have room to be annoyed at how easy it was for him stupid werewolf. I like Boyd. Boyd is smart. Boyd is my favorite werewolf.

            “You should be alright now,” he says. I don’t move, though, because effort. “Um, not to be rude or anything, but do you want me to help you up or…?”

            Nice Boyd. Polite Boyd. I like Boyd.

            “I think I don’t remember how to move,” I admit quietly. I can’t believe I was bested by my own car. I feel so betrayed.

            “I can carry you if you want…” Boyd offers sheepishly.

            “Yes please do want!” I shout, using literally the last of my effort to raise both my arms straight up. Boyd laughs and picks me up like I’m made of pillows. Pillows for sleep. Sleep is good.

            “I’m sorry I’m getting mud on your jacket,” I grumble into his ridiculously well-toned abs. It’s like I’m on a mission to ruin their jackets. First Derek’s, now Boyd’s. I feel like I’m doing so well on this mission I should probably start making the destruction intentional.

            “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ve had worse. Last week I caught a rabbit while I was out on patrol.”

            I look up at him (at least I try to look up, but my head only sort of listens). “Oh my God, was that a joke? Did you just tell a joke?”

            He gives me a shy smile. “Sorry.”

            “No!” I say. “It’s great! I was starting to think that werewolves were incapable of maintaining a sense of humor.”

            “Yeah,” he says. “At this point, I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

            “Preachin’ to the choir, sister,” I promise. My head lolls onto his shoulder which I totally expected to be bony and uncomfortable considering that he’s like made of muscles, but it isn’t. It’s nice. Boyd is nice. I like Boyd.

            “Uhm… I like you too?” he says. Oh, I said that last bit out loud. I start to apologize but then I can’t because I’m just… sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a plot, I swear, it's just hiding right now. Shh, it's okay. We'll get there eventually.


	4. I Hate You, Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter. Sry 'bout that...

            “What did you do to her?” someone is shouting. Okay, _that_ , is Scott. I hate you, Scott. You suck.

            “Nothing,” Boyd promises. “She was trying to push her Jeep out of the mud. I think she was at it for a while before I even got there.”

            “Why didn’t she call us?” somebody asks. I don’t know whose voice that is but I want to hug it. That voice needs a hug.

            “Oh crap,” Scott says. Yeah, Scott, check your phone. Loser. “Wow, she called a lot.”

            “Jesus, Scott!” Derek growls. Internally I wince because I can recognize Derek’s voice even when I’m half asleep. Ugh, this crush needs to go somewhere fast – like off a cliff.

            I feel myself being lowered onto something cold and soft and not Boyd. It’s not as comfy as Boyd, but I can lay flat on this comfy and that’s nice. I curl up into a ball and let sleep pull me back in.


	5. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is creepy.

When I wake up again, it is with the distinct feeling that I am being watched. Upon opening my eyes I find that I am on a couch in Derek’s crazy burnt out living room, and Peter is crouching less than a foot away from me just staring.

            Naturally, I flail wildly and fall off the couch.

            “Good, you’re awake,” Peter smiles.

            “You nearly gave me a heart attack!” I yell. He purses his lips and throws a small heap of fabric onto the couch I just so gracefully vacated.

            “The room across the hall furthest from the front doors is a bathroom,” he tells me as if I had asked. “It took some doing but Derek managed to get the shower working again.”

            “Um… good for Derek?” I say. I was kind of wondering where he showered, though. I mean, he usually looks scruffy, but he always smells like soap. And if you don’t count the blood stains his clothes are always clean. Like how does he do that? Does he just break into people’s houses and use their washing machine?

            “…and then we’ll go,” Peter is saying. Dammit, Stiles, pay attention.

            “What?” I ask stupidly. Peter rolls his eyes.

            “Take a shower, get dressed, then we’ll go meet the others,” Peter says very slowly like I’m a child. Technically I am a child, but it still hurts because I saved his nephew’s ass more than once I am capable of understanding a simple sentence the second time around!

            “Okay,” I manage, but Peter has already slinked away to wherever the hell it is that Peter goes. Does he have a Fortress of Wolfitude somewhere? Mental note: find out where Peter goes all the time.

            In trying to get up I realize that the mud I was covered in before has now dried and is, if possible, more uncomfortable than it was. I can’t even move correctly, so I just sort of waddle over to the door Peter mentioned. I didn’t expect a five star hotel inside, but what I see is just sad. The shower is basically a hose. There is a piece of wall missing across from the tub (that has no shower curtain). For a second I rethink whether I really need to take a shower, but then I take stock and mud has gotten into some very delicate areas and yeah I really do need to shower.

            Oh well. It’s not like I have any dignity left anyway.

            My clothes make a cracking noise as I peel each piece of fabric off of my skin. Once they’re all the way off, it looks like I have the world’s strangest lumpy farmer’s tan. Eugh. That’s nasty.

            Then I jump into the shower. No hot water. Sweet. Let’s do this.

            Twenty minutes of scrubbing and a mild case of hypothermia later, I finally manage to get the mud out of my hair and… other delicate places. The pile of fabric Peter tossed at me turns out to be a towel and some clothes. They’re girl clothes, so they must be Erica’s and Jesus I hope they’re like the biggest clothes Erica owns because you’d have to sew together like three of that girl’s usual outfits just to cover one Stiles. They don’t seem ridiculously small. But I’ve been wrong before…

            It’s a tank top that fits so very closely I feel like I’m naked and a pair of jeans apparently meant to be worn like a second skin. Oh hell no. Nope. There is no way I am going anywhere looking like this. I slip back into my shoes and wrap the now wet towel around my shoulders, then pad back out to find Peter leaning against the wall holding what looks like a jacket.  He notices me and smiles.

            “Do you happen to have any clothes that couldn’t also double as underwear?” I ask, pulling the towel tighter around me and eyeing the jacket in his hands.

            “Don’t they fit?” he asks, feigning innocence. “They look alright from what I can see.”

            “Uh no, I have never shown this much skin in my life,” I say. He narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe me.

            “Come now, you’re a beautiful girl, let me see-“ He tries to take my towel but I dodge away from his hand. Not today, Petey.

            Then I sort of lose my balance trying to dodge another swipe at my towel and have to drop it to catch the railing or else fall over. Peter snatches it away as soon as it’s out of my grasp.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Stiles,” he says. “You look sensational. To think you’ve been hiding that figure underneath your father’s old t shirts for so long?” He makes a noise of distaste.

            “They’re _my_ old t shirts, thank you very much,” I say, crossing my arms. “And I like them.”

            “Still,” Peter says thoughtfully, as if he’s not even listening to me. He’s just looking at me, so I straighten up a little and clench my fists so it won’t be as obvious the way he’s making me nervous. “It can’t hurt to try something new every once in a while, can it?”

            “I get the feeling people say that a lot about meth.”

            He sneers. “Funny, Stiles. I can see why my nephew is so intrigued by you.”

            “Pft,” I snort. “Yeah, right. Are we done with this? This creepiness? My dad is the Sheriff, you know. We are one bad touch away from a law suit right now, Mister.”

            His face falls back into its usual sneer. “Alright then,” he agrees. “Let’s go join the others.”

            He shoves the jacket into my hands and it feels warm. God bless. Then I put it on and realize it is about a size too small and I can barely zip it closed over my boobs. I really don’t like where this is headed. I should ask Scott if- oh no.

            “Peter, where’s my phone?”

            He shrugs without looking back at me. The Camero is parked outside and it doesn’t register until Peter is sliding into the driver’s seat that I’m actually going to get to ride in it. My Jeep is also nowhere to be found.

            Oh not good. This is bad. This is Lifetime movie bad.

            Peter reaches over and opens the passenger side door from the inside for me. “Get in,” he says with a smile.

            So this is it for me, then. They’re going to find my body in a ditch in the woods somewhere wearing Erica’s clothes. I’m surprised that I’m not more surprised.

            I take a deep breath and, because I have no other choice, I climb into the car with Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I had to.


	6. Something is Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Derek's perspective. It's also kind of short and cliffhanger-ed, but I'm posting the next chapter ASAP so that shouldn't matter...

            “Are you sure it was safe to leave Stiles with that creep?” Scott asks for the fifth time. For the fifth time, I glare at him. Don’t ask stupid questions, Scott. Of course it wasn’t safe, but we didn’t have much choice.  If Boyd and Erica are right about catching the Alpha Pack’s scent in the preserve, then things could turn ugly fast. I would prefer not to drag the exhausted human into that fight if at all possible, and Peter gets the chance to prove himself trustworthy that he’s been nagging me about. As an Alpha, it’s a win-win situation.

            But if Peter hurts her I will kill him again and he’ll stay dead this time. My pack doesn’t need that kind of stress right now.

            “Hey Derek, I’m gonna go check on her,” Scott decides.

            Breathe in, breathe out. Do not hit him, Derek. Even though he hasn’t shut up long enough for me to finish a single thought all afternoon, I should not hit him. That would be wrong.

            But it would feel so good.

            But it would be _wrong_ , Derek.

            “Fine, go,” I say. “Don’t get killed.”

            “Be right back,” Scott promises. Then he dashes off into the woods at top speed, only barely avoiding trees as he passes them. I sigh, he’s got about the skill of a toddler werewolf and somehow he’s still the best Beta I have. I don’t even have him, either. He refuses to be pack and I don’t know how to convince him he’s being an idiot. The Alphas will kill him, and then they have a better chance of killing the rest of us. How is that not convincing enough?

            God, I’m a shitty Alpha. Laura would have had Scott eating out of the palm of her hand by now.

            Not a good train of thought, Derek. Focus. Let’s not go there right now.

            I can hear Isaac wandering aimlessly through the leaves, sniffing things. Boyd and Erica are pretending not to flirt with each other and entirely not focused on the possibility that we might be attacked. Awesome. Great bunch you’ve got here, Derek. Real cream of the crop.

            _Something’s wrong_.

            I turn my head toward the house and Scott has shifted. He’s running on all fours at top speed. Toward us.

            “What is it?” I demand as Scott skids to a halt on the leaves in front of me.

            “Stiles,” he says, his eyes wide with terror. “She’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUNNNNN


	7. The Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where all of you find out I am kind of a troll...
> 
> Sry. BD

“Peter… I can’t… I can’t breathe…” My ribs feel like they’re about to cave in under all the pressure.

            “You’re alright,” he says.

            “I’m about to pass out!” I protest. Peter’s little minion just pulls the strings tighter. “Oh God, I’m dying.”

            “Just a little longer…” Peter swears. My vision is swimming.

            “There!” the minion cries his success. Suddenly the strings give a little and my lungs fill will sweet sweet oxygen.

            “Never… Again…” I wheeze.

            “I wouldn’t be so certain,” Peter says as he pushes me in front of the mirror.

            Holy shit, my boobs look awesome. My mouth falls open.

            “Like I was saying,” continues the minion- I mean, sales clerk, “this dress won’t be as hard to get into in the next size up. And we should have your size in by the end of the week if you’re interested-“

            “Make the order,” Peter says.

            I really should argue that I am a big girl and I can buy my own clothes, or at least protest Peter’s seedy backalley approach to shopping, but… it’s just so pretty. A red dress with a beaded lace up corset, no straps, and a skirt that barely reaches the top of my knee – I should be scandalized. As it stands, though, I look like I was born in this dress. This dress and I were separated at birth. This dress is my one true love. I will be buried in this dress.

            And maybe a pair of the shoes I saw by the counter…

            So I wait until after my dress is safely removed and it’s beautiful wonderful twin is ordered and the money for down payment ($330 I’m going to cry, I don’t actually know the full price because Peter won’t let me ask and there are no tags on clothes in the stores he’s taken me to. I don’t think I’ve spent $330 on clothing in the past five years and this is just the down payment on _one_ life altering piece of hand sewn clothing) has changed hands to resume my demands that Peter take me to the others immediately.

            Peter shakes his head. “I am sick of seeing you drown in your sea of plaid,” Peter says. “And Erica’s ego rivals the Queen of England. This will take her down a few pegs and when you go bumbling around in ratty t shirts at least I can take a small comfort in the fact that you are doing it purely by choice and not because you don’t have any other options.”

            “So, I’m your charity case?” I scowl.

            “Essentially, yes,” Peter says and steers me into another store with a name I can’t pronounce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and you doubted Peter's intentions. Silly.
> 
> There is totally a point to the shopping I promise. A point which is not 'because she's a girl and girls like to shop.'


	8. Meanwhile Back at HQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from Derek's perspective and the last one for a while.

            “It has to be Peter!” Scott yells. “He’s the one with the keys to your Camero!”

            At this point, there is no use in attempting to explain to Scott that I don’t actually know who has my keys because I left them on the table by my bed along with Stiles’ phone (which is not creepy. Boyd found it in the mud and I cleaned it off. I was just keeping it safe until she woke up. If a text message flashed on the screen while it was in my care, I only looked at it because it caught my eye. And even then I only read the first half of it. I only remember it because it was asking Stiles how to fry an octopus. Does Stiles even have friends that aren’t Scott? Somehow it seems a strange thought.)

            Now my keys and Stiles’ phone are both missing along with Stiles and Peter. I can’t smell anything off, but that doesn’t mean the Alphas aren’t responsible for this and trying to frame Peter. If we go after Peter and we’re wrong, Stiles might die while we’re chasing the wind. I can’t let that happen. I have to be sure.

            “Keep your pants on, Scott,” Erica gripes. “The GPS locator will find them.” The beeping of that program on Erica’s laptop only seems to make Scott tenser.

            “We don’t have time for this!” he whines. “Stiles could be hurt and we’re just sitting here letting it happen.”

            “We can’t save Stiles if we don’t know where she is, Scott,” I explain as calmly as I can considering I’m talking to what is basically a sack of instinct and raw emotion with wolf claws.

            Scott glares at me. “Stop protecting him!” he yells.

            I want to laugh almost as much as I want to throw up. Protect him? Peter killed my sister, I want to scream. He killed the only person I had left. And then he lied to me – told me didn’t mean to, and I _believed_ him. I believed him and he has almost killed me more times than I can count. _Protect him?_ I want to spit.

            He’s only here because I need to be close enough to watch him. If I didn’t need him and the information on his laptop, he’d be dead right now.

            “Sit down, Scott,” I growl. He backs off and starts pacing again like a nervous puppy.

            “I can hear the Camero,” Isaac announces just as I hear it too.

           The pack all start towards the door. “Sit down,” I command, stalking out to the front porch. Surprisingly, even Scott listens. I’m alone when the Camero pulls up in front of the house. Peter is driving.

            For one furious second I can’t see Stiles with him and I’m tearing off Peter’s limbs in my mind. Then I catch her scent just as I see that horrible blue Jeep drive up and park behind my car.

            Of course. Of course she went to get her car even though she’s fought with it all day. Of course she did because it’s Stiles.

            “Derek.” Peter nods his head and smiles as he walks past me into the house, shoving Stiles’ phone into my pocket as he does. He did this on purpose. It feels like every muscle in my body is tense and ready to rip his throat out, but I can’t. I still need him. Peter knows it too, because I can see it in his smile. He pauses in the doorway.

            “You’re welcome,” he says.

            Deep calming breaths Derek do not kill him. Do not kill him.

            “Hiya Grumpy Wolf!” Stiles calls cheerily as she climbs out of her Jeep, and I look over at her.

            That’s not Stiles, I think for a second, because the person who got out of that Jeep is wearing a dress. Stiles doesn’t wear dresses. Stiles doesn’t wear make-up either, nor does she ever do anything with this much… confidence.

            But it is Stiles, because it looks just like her. And it smells like Stiles (with a bit of added floral scent… is she actually wearing perfume?). Then the girl trips up the second step onto the porch and skins her knee. Yep. It’s Stiles.

            “Awesome,” she hisses in pain. “This is why I wear pants.”

            She pushes herself up and smirks at me. “Peter made me do it,” she says sheepishly.

            I can tell she expects me to say something, but I don’t even think I can move. For half a second it occurs to me that if I was fifteen year old Derek, Stiles looks exactly like the sort of girl I would have died for a chance with. For a second, I want to be fifteen again.

            Then, like a reflex, I shut down hard against the flood of emotions before they take over. I don’t have time to break down. I don’t have time to be fifteen. And underneath everything it’s _Stiles_ that I’m looking at.

            That should make it better, but if anything I feel worse.

            “Do I look that bad?” she asks quietly. It’s not like Kate used to ask. Kate was always fishing. She just wanted to make you say the words. Stiles… she looks down at herself as if she’s trying to pick out what flaws I could possibly be seeing even though I’ve said nothing. And Stiles never does that. Stiles hates being vulnerable. I can see it in the way she’s holding herself still against her natural state of constant motion.

            “No,” I say finally. Then I head for the tree line to search for the Alpha Pack because we’re behind schedule now…

            …and maybe a bit because I don’t want to give myself the chance to say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sterek is endgame. Just remember that.


	9. People Will Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles in school, with a touch of the Stiles/Scott friendship that I miss so much at the end of season 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has internet friends made while online gaming. TheWizard$tark is one of those friends. FYI, cuz it comes a bit out of nowhere.

            “They’re staring,” Scott grumbles. Yeah, Scott, I’ve noticed. This was such a stupid idea. I can’t believe I let Erica talk me into wearing this. Technically it’s just a pair of jeans and a shirt. Also my kickass boots that go up to my knees over my pants. Peter rolled his eyes when I called them pirate boots, but I still feel like I can kick serious paranormal ass in these.

            All in all, I thought I looked alright when I left this morning. Granted, the jeans are of a more fitted variety than I’m used to, and I’m pretty sure this top cost $75 (which is stupid because it’s literally just a blue sweater with tiny white polka dots all over it), and this might be the most form-fitted outfit I’ve worn to school since my mom got too sick to buy me clothes anymore, but I thought I looked alright. I think my mom would have liked it too, which is probably the whole reason I’m wearing it.

            Also saying I didn’t look that bad yesterday was probably the closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever gotten from Derek, and I’d be lying if the way every werewolf jaw was left hanging when I walked in the room for the first time didn’t make me feel sort of awesome.

            So, why not, I thought. Why not wear it to school?

            My phone buzzes.

            TheWizard$tark:

_U r a strong sassy woman who don’t need no man._

            I love my internet friends.

            With borrowed confidence I manage to make it through the first half of my day without incident. Point for Stiles.

            The only dangers left on the horizon are lunch and chemistry with Harris (well, besides the Alpha pack who may or may not be trying to kill Scott and the Argents who may or may not be trying to kill Scott and Peter who may or may not be trying to kill everyone). After that, I’m home free.

            It sounds so easy in my head.

            The anxiety that wells up in my chest when I see the crowd of noisy judgmental teenagers breaking their judgmental bread all around me, however, makes me realize that it may not be so simple. Breathe in, I tell myself.

            “Do or do not, there is no try,” I say quietly as I make my way over to Scott and plop down across from him with my usual flair. Scott looks around like everyone in the room is on a personal mission to steal his cookie.

            “They’re _still_ staring?” he groans. “Have they been doing this all day?”

            “Pretty much,” I shrug. “It’s like that time I broke my femur and had to be in a wheelchair for a month, only less painful.”

            “It’s just like, you were always a girl. Why are they all just noticing now?” Scott is pouting and it’s adorable, but I’d never tell him that.

            “They don’t have your keen werewolf senses,” I remind him.

            “Do you know how many guys have asked me if it’s okay to ask you out?”

            “Am I going to get a backstory here, or am I just blindly guessing?” Scott isn’t in a joking mood, though.

            “Twelve,” he says as he shoves a giant forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

            “You’re lying,” I accuse him, but he just frowns at me like ‘why would I make that up?’

            “I guess a bunch of people thought we were dating,” Scott grimaces.

            “Oh, well it’s nice to know how you feel before this goes any further, Scott.”

            “Sorry,” he says. “I mean, you’re pretty and everything, but that would be like incest. It’s just too weird to even consider.”

            “Aw, you think I’m pretty?” I bat my eyelashes heavily. “Why, Scott, you noticed.”

            “Shut up, Stiles, I’ve had like the weirdest day.”

            I raise an eyebrow. “Weirder than the day you found out you were a werewolf?”

            Scott, bless his heart, considers it for a second before shaking his head. “No, that was way weirder.”

            “Good to know,” I reply. “So how’s Allison?”

            He glares at his food. “I’m not supposed to talk to Allison,” he says.

            “Oh, please, I can hear you pining like the constant ringing in my ears. Of three things I was absolutely certain: one, Scott was a werewolf; two, there was a part of him, and I didn’t know how strong that part might be, that liked to eat his feelings; and three, he was unquestioningly and irrevocably pining after Allison.”

            Scott groans. “Dammit, Stiles, I understood that reference and it’s all your fault.”

            “So I went through a phase,” I say. “Every girl has a Twilight phase. We move on. We grow up. We read better books.”

            “You made me watch the movies too,” he argues, and okay, he’s got me there.

            “Well, I read the books it’s not like I’m going to not see the movies.”

            “Yes, but what I don’t understand is why you had to take _me_ ,” he whines.

            “Because you’re my best friend and I love you. Now shut up and eat your green beans.”

            Scott grumbles, but he eats them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was a Twilight reference. Sue me. It fit.


	10. A Wild Lydia Appears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of our lovely Lydia Martin into this universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure how to include Jackson in this since I don't know what they're going to do with his character (lack of character? loss of actor?) on the show. So he exists in everything prior to this just like in canon, but from here on out we're just not gonna talk about him.

The worst shock of my life comes when I am absently flipping through my chemistry notebook, observing the paradigm shift between actual beneficial notes from the lecture to doodles of Mr. Harris’ face in places that it shouldn’t be (i.e. a cannonball in a pirate war, painted onto the stage at a male strip club, the sun in Teletubbies, etc.), when suddenly 110 lbs. of wit and attitude plops into the seat next to me and says with a swish of strawberry-blonde hair:

            “Congratulations on finally ditching the hobo look.”

            Lydia Martin punched me in the face once. It was awesome.

            “Thanks,” I say, trying to conjure a thought that isn’t a quote from Mean Girls. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Scott hiding his laughter with yesterday’s math homework (dammit, Scott, we did that together. All you had to do was turn it in. You had one job.). It’s weird but I’ve had this major girlcrush on Lydia Martin since I was in third grade. Once, I tried to dye my hair red so it would look like hers, but I didn’t get much further than realizing that you have to bleach dark hair before you dye it and then getting Scott to do it for me instead of asking an adult. Turns out Google lies sometimes. I ended up looking more like Cruella DeVille than anything else and when my dad took me to get it fixed they just dyed it my natural color (that was like six years ago and I still really hate to do anything with my hair just on principle).

            For a few years my mission in life was to keep up with Lydia Martin, the smartest girl I’d ever seen. But getting over my mom’s death meant letting go of a few things, and my obsession with being like Lydia took a backseat to taking care of my dad. That was easy to do until recently, because Lydia never said two words to me until Allison Argent came to town and took up with my boy. Then we were friends, then we weren’t friends, then she got attacked, then I really seriously thought we were friends, then Jackson was the kanima, and she hasn’t talked to me since the night Jackson almost died twice.

            “You should own it,” she says, checking her face in a compact mirror. “I bet if we teamed up, we could break the hearts of all the boys on the lacrosse team before their next season.”

            I laugh nervously, almost knock over a glass beaker, then pull myself together. I am the master of my own destiny.

            “I’ll pass,” I say, “I’m on the girls’ lacrosse team. We practice on the same field. So it might get kinda awkward.”

            She looks over at me and purses her lips like she’s scrutinizing my every flaw.  Then she says, “We have a girls’ lacrosse team?”

            I have never been grateful to Mr. Harris for anything in my life, but then he starts class and prevents any opportunity for me to accidently say something stupid to Lydia. He’s still an asshole, though, because the homework he assigns is going to take me at least three hours to finish and I have wolfly duties to attend to (chief among them being that I need to find out what Derek is hiding from me trying to get me to skip pack gatherings).

            Tonight is gonna be rough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but there is more Lydia soon because I have like the biggest girlcrush of all time on Lydia Martin. That's a lie, I have a bigger girlcrush on Emma Stone, but it's still a close thing.
> 
> What was I talking about?
> 
> Oh yeah, next chapter!


	11. Derbear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is being awesome again. Derek is not amused.

            “I thought Chemistry was a science, why this all math?” Scott  is growling at his chemistry homework with enough intensity to set it on fire.

            “Because you touch yourself at night,” I reply automatically, not looking up from my archaic latin dictionary and the pages from the Argent bestiary I taped into my Algebra textbook so that it looks like I’m studying even when I’m badassing it up teaching myself frigging _latin_ just to learn about Alpha packs because Derek has trust issues and refuses to tell me everything he knows. I can’t believe Derek thinks I’m not useful. Like, does he realize how difficult it was for me to get my hands on one of like six total dictionaries of archaic latin in the whole of Beacon Hills? These eyes have seen things no eyes ever should.

            “Can I please just put this off and go to the pack meeting?” he whines.

            “Are you going to take me with you?” I ask pointedly.

            “Come on, Derek would kill me,” he says. “And he’s gonna kill me if I’m not there tonight!”

            “Well, if you’re doomed anyway, wouldn’t you rather spend the evening with a beautiful lady instead of Derek Growly McWerewolfpants and his back up Betas?”

            “Why, did you invite Allison?”

            I grab the nearest thing to me (which happens to be a stapler) and take a momentary break from translating to hurl it at Scott’s head. The sad part is that my aim is so bad he doesn’t have to dodge and it still sails right past him. I stick my tongue out at him.

            Scott’s phone rings for the third time and he’s literally bouncing up and down in his seat trying not to answer. I haven’t seen Scott this conflicted since he had to choose which parent to move in with. I am only okay with this realization if it makes me anything like Scott’s mom because that woman is so badass it hurts to look at her sometimes.

            Unlike Scott’s mom, I have not developed complete immunity to Scott’s kicked puppy looks, and when he catches my eye, I cave.

            “Fine, just answer it, but you’re not going anywhere until I have some answers.”

            Scott, forever a potato, has already answered his phone before I’m done talking and Derek is snarking so loud I can hear every word.

            “Where the hell are you, Scott?” Derek is saying.

            “Stiles is making me do my homework.”

            “SCOTT YOU ARE A WEREWOLF!” Derek growls. “Just sneak out a window or something. How are we supposed to survive a fight with this Alpha pack if you can’t even hold your own against a sixteen year old girl?”

            Scott’s face is blank. “But… it’s Stiles.”

            “So what?” challenges Derek. “Lock her in a bathroom or something and get. Here. Now.”

            “I can hear everything you’re saying,” I sing obnoxiously in the phone’s direction. Scott is a deer in my headlights.

            There are a few moments of rustling on the other line which I can practically guarantee is the sound of Derek questioning his life choices before he says, “Scott, put Stiles on the phone.”

            Derek doesn’t know this, but already I have won this battle. Mwa ha ha.

            “Hiya, Der-bear,” I coo into Scott’s cell phone. Scott winces and my victory tastes all the sweeter for knowing it has also made Scott uncomfortable. “What’s shakin’?”

            “You’re not coming to the meeting, Stiles, you’ll only get in the way.”

            “Ouch, tell me how you really feel.”

            “I feel like you’re a pain in my ass.”

            “Always good to know that me and your ass ride the same train of thought,” I say. “But I’d really like to skip to the part where you just accept that Scott and I are a packaged deal. Buy Scott, get Stiles free.”

            “You’re going to get yourself hurt,” Derek growls.

            “I’ve already gotten hurt, Derek!” I snap. I can feel myself shaking, and anger tensed just below the surface hits me like a wave. I’m already on a tirade before I know what I’m going to say. “And if these creeps have been watching us like you think they have, then by now they know who I am. I’m already on their list. So, I would really much rather have all the facts and try to keep my family safe than just wait around like a douche for the boogey man to come gobble me up. I’ve _been_ hurt. I’ve _been_ beaten. But I’m still alive and dammit Derek I intend to stay that way and there’s nothing you or you’re perfectly sculpted eyebrows can do about that so would you kindly remove the stick from your ass and tell me _what the hell is going on_?”

            “Holy shit,” Scott whistles behind me. When I look over he’s staring at me like I might try to bite him. That is uncalled for, I think, because that only happened once.

            Derek sighs. “Get Scott over here now,” he says, and hangs up.

            I fist pump the air. “Stiles: 3 Werewolves: 0”

            (Jeep: 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first point for Stiles was catching Derek in her trap, if you were wondering.


	12. The Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek finally gets a lead on the Alphas and it leads him to an office building in the main district of Beacon Hills. He finally lets Stiles help, but somehow she is not thrilled with his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Here there be OCs.

“Okay, so when I said I wanted to help the Pack, this is so not what I meant and you know it!” I yell.

            Derek smirks at me like ‘If you don’t like it, you can just leave.’ There’s no way I was going to leave under any circumstance, but now that he’s made that stupid face I’m determined to pull this off just to spite him.

            “I could totally do it,” Erica offers.

            “Stiles said she wanted to help,” Derek shrugs. “Besides, I need as many wolves as I can trying to catch the Alpha’s scent. Stiles just has to distract the security guard long enough for us to find him.”

            “I get that plan, but couldn’t I distract him wearing something that feels like I’m not one wrong move from introducing the world to my snatch?”

            Scott grimaces. “Ew, don’t make me picture it.”

            I pull my super awesome trenchcoat tighter around my body and stick my tongue out at Scott. “Excuse you, “I snap at him. “You should be so lucky, wolfboy! My cooch is friggin majestic, okay?”

            Scott whines like he’s in physical pain. Derek rolls his eyes.

            “Look, I don’t care how you distract him, just distract him,” Derek growls.

          “It’s not hard,” Erica shrugs. “Just flip your hair and pretend not to notice him stare at your boobs. Easy.”

            “This is so demeaning,” I grumble. Erica smiles and guides me towards the door.

            “Yeah,” she says, “but it’s also kind of fun. If he’s going to stare at you anyway, why not give him a show?”

            “Why would he stare at me?” I ask, fighting panic as we get closer to the door.

            “Um, because you’re a friggin babe?” she snorts. “And you look hot. Yes, I peeked while you were getting dressed. You really don’t need to be self-conscious.”

            “I’m not,” I swear.

            “Then why the long coat?”

            “The weather is a little brisk,” I say. “And I am wearing a napkin for a dress.”

            “A very sexy napkin,” she whispers in my ear. Her breath on my neck makes me freeze just long enough for her to pull off my jacket and push me through the front doors into the office lobby.

            And, of course, I fall flat on my face just inside the door. Erica is now my nemesis.

            “Are you alright?” the guard asks, rushing over to help me up. When he offers me his hand I just stare at it. I’ve tripped over a lot of things in my life, but I can’t remember a single time when a complete stranger offered to help me up. So, naturally, I perceive it as a threat.

            He must think I hit my head, because he crouches next to me and I can tell he’s searching my eyes for any sign of concussion (I know that’s what he’s doing because I’ve seen my dad do it a million times).

            “Are you alright?” he repeats, softer.

            “Totally,” I say, withering a bit under a stranger’s direct attention. “This is not the first time gravity has gotten the best of me.”

            He laughs. Seriously? That wasn’t even a good joke.

            “Here, let me help you up,” he says, offering his hand again.

            Part of me wants to slap it away and demand to know what he’s planning.

            But then I remember that I’m supposed to be distracting him by being a sexy beast, so slapping him might not be the best choice. Alright, Stiles. Let’s be sexy. You can do this.

            I force a smile and let him help me up. The way he slides an arm around my waist to steady me is completely unnecessary and it freaks me out a little.

            “Okay?” he asks once I’m firmly back on my feet.

            Right. Flirting. How do flirt?

            All I’ve got is some bad romance movies to go by (many of which are from the forties and fifties because I have good taste). Based on that, I choose to lean more of my weight on him than is strictly necessary, like I’m a baby deer learning how to not fall over when I walk.

            “Sorry,” I say as I let my head fall on his shoulder.  “I just got a little lightheaded for a second.”

He’s cute for a security guard. He’s only a few years older than me, with blonde buzzcut hair, and he still hasn’t quite grown out of his acne. His entire demeanor screams military, and (though I sort of hate to admit it) I am slightly more okay with having to flirt with him. If I told you that I don’t find soldiers sexy as hell, I’d be lying.

            He smiles sheepishly, like I’m making him nervous. Aw, sweetie!

            “Here, you can sit in my chair,” he says, guiding me over to the security desk slowly. Both of us have our backs to the door for a long time, so if the pack didn’t use that time to sneak in, they’re idiots. Also, I am the best at distraction.

            He helps me into his chair, but doesn’t seem to know what to do once I’m sitting.

            “Um, do you want some water?” he asks, looking at me in quick glances.

            “No, I think I’m okay,” I say. “Thanks, though. And thanks for coming to my rescue, it was really nice.”

            I shit you not, the guy blushes.

            “It’s all a part of the job,” he shrugs. He hesitates, before adding, “Though if everyone I dealt with was as pretty as you, I wouldn’t mind coming in to work every morning.”

            I like this kid. He’s as bad at flirting as I am. He will do nicely.

            I smile and he relaxes a little. He even sits on the edge of his desk (with his back to the door, oh yeah, Stiles is friggin awesome at being the distraction).

            “So, what brings you here today?” he asks easily. “I mean, I know you don’t work here, because I’d definitely have remembered you.”

            I know it’s really corny, but I find it really sweet how obvious he is about flirting with me. Like, his flirtation can be seen from space. It’s nice, since I don’t think anyone has ever actually flirted with me before. I’ve done plenty of awkward flailing that passes for flirting, but I usually don’t get a response.

            “Just visiting,” I reply, hoping the lie isn’t too obvious.

            “Came to see your boyfriend at work?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

            “My dad,” I say before I can think of a better lie. I wince as soon as I say it, but he doesn’t catch it. Now I’m half expecting someone to come in, shouting, ‘Hey, isn’t that the Sheriff’s daughter?’ and ruining everything. Dammit, I hate small towns.

            “Oh,” he smiles.

            “Yeah I thought maybe we could catch an early dinner together,” I say. Oh God, the lies just keep coming.

            “Do you want me to page him?” he asks.

            Oh shit.

            “No,” I say, just a little too quickly. “Um… I called him outside. He said he had an emergency meeting and I could just wait for him in the lobby.”

            “That sucks,” he says. “Coming all the way here just to wait.”

            STOP POKING HOLES IN MY WEB OF LIES.

            “Yeah, but I don’t mind,” I say, trying not to sound annoyed. “At least there’s company.”

            He sits up a little straighter and beams. “Happy to be of service,” he says.

            “Um, I think I’m okay now, if you want your chair back,” I offer.

            “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s been really slow today anyway.”

            “You should thank me, then, for being a spaz and making your day more interesting.”

            “Thank you,” he smiles. “And I don’t believe you’re a spaz.”

            I snort. “Obviously you don’t know me that well.”

            He chews his bottom lip. “Is there any way I’ll get a chance to remedy the situation?”

            Cute guard say what?

            Oh my God. This is it. This is the moment. He’s asking me out. I think. He’s almost probably asking me out! Oh my God. Somebody is asking me out! Now I might not die alone and have my corpse feasted upon by my many cats!

            My mouth is literally half-open, about to say ‘OH HELL YES’ or some other variant, when I notice the pack sneaking back out the door and a very grumpy Derek Hale is plastering on his fake-as-hell smile as he turns the corner.

            “Ready to go, honey?” he asks.

            It’s a really good thing that I’m sitting, because if I wasn’t, I would have literally fallen over in shock hearing Derek Hale call me ‘honey.’ I didn’t even think that word was in his vocabulary. Derek Hale probably never even eats honey because he only eats food befitting his dramatic brooding lifestyle. There’s no way he has one of those adorable yellow bears in whatever passes for a kitchen at his abandoned train station hideout. Those little bears run in fear whenever Derek walks by.

            The security guard jumps up and turns to face Derek.

            “Um… ID?” he stammers, pulling a scanner from his pocket.

            Unfazed, Derek hands him a little plastic card (which I don’t think I want to know where he managed to get) and the machine beeps cheerily when it’s scanned.  The security guard hands it back without meeting Derek’s eyes.

            “Come on,” Derek says. “We should get going, Stiles.”

            “This is your dad?” the guard asks, clearly confused.

           I hated the lie when I told it, but the scandalized look on Derek’s face right now makes it so very worth it.

            “I’m not her father,” Derek growls. I glare at him. Dude! Don’t blow my cover now!

            “Step-father,” I correct, bouncing over to Derek and linking our arms together. I’m being adorable on purpose, which totally works on the guard, but Derek is basically a wood plank with all the expression he’s giving me to work with.

            “I think he’s still getting used to the idea,” I say to the guard. “The wedding was only last month.”

            “Congrats,” the guard says to Derek. Derek glares at him.

            “We should go,” Derek says.

            “Whatever, grumpy,” I say. Then, to the guard, “It was really nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

            He beams at me again. “Definitely!” He seems to regret his choice of words, though, because he immediately adds, “I mean, yeah. That’d be cool. You know where to find me. Stiles, wasn’t it?”

            “Yeah,” I nod. “It’s Stiles.”

            “Cool name,” he says. “I’m Graham, like the cracker.”

            Graham immediately gets this mortified look on his face, but I’m already doubled over laughing. “Sorry,” I say, once I pull back the giggles, “Just, that’s the greatest way to introduce yourself I’ve ever heard. Please tell me you say that to everyone when you first meet them?”

            “Pretty much,” he says sheepishly. “Um, Stiles, I was wondering, if you’re not busy on Friday then maybe we could-“

            “We’re leaving,” Derek huffs, and before I can argue he grabs my arm and drags me towards the door.

            I barely get the chance to yell “See you around!” over my shoulder at a very confused-looking Graham the Security Guard before Derek pulls me outside where the rest of the pack is waiting.

            As soon as I’m sure no one in the building can see, I yank my arm free and smack Derek across the nose. It shocks him enough that he just freezes instead of growling at me like he normally would.

            “Bad Derek!” I say.

            “Did you just smack his nose like a dog?” Erica asks, clearly amused.

            “He deserves it for being a total cockblock,” I say defensively. “And it’s cold outside, give me back my coat!”

            Erica holds it up and I snatch it as I walk past in direct route to my car. Stupid werewolves.

            Behind me, Scott says:

            “Like I said, Derek. You don’t mess with her. It’s Stiles.”

            I like Scott. I think I’ll keep him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graham does return. Sorry.


	13. Playtime is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is a jerk to Stiles. She does not take his shit.

            “Are you okay?” Scott attempts cautiously after a few minutes of driving in silence.

            “Perfect,” I snap. “Why do you ask?”

            A look at Scott out of the corner of my eye tells me that he really doesn’t want to answer – he’s sinking lower in his seat and looking pathetic just like I told him to do whenever he might get in trouble because it makes him look adorable and thus seemingly less blameworthy. How dare he use my own tactics against me?

            I grip the steering wheel tighter and take the turn into Scott’s neighborhood a touch more aggressively than I mean to. The Jeep makes a sound of protest and I mentally apologize for taking out my frustrations on her.

            “I think we got up on two wheels that time,” says Scott, aiming for a joke but landing with me shooting a glare at him.

            He shuffles nervously. “This is about what Derek sad at the meeting tonight, isn’t it?”

            _The Alpha was gone seconds before we got there! Derek growls._

_So that’s my fault? You told me to distract the guard and I did. I did everything you told me to do, Derek._

_Obviously you didn’t because somebody warned the Alpha we were coming._

_Woah, are you suggesting Graham-_

_Derek makes a sour face at my use of his name, like just the sound of it makes him want to hurt things._

_No. He isn’t working for them. He can’t be._

_You’re basing this on a ten minute conversation? Derek snorts. You don’t know anything about him, Stiles. He isn’t a good guy just because you like him._

_Fuck you._

_Isaac steps in between us and nudges us apart. Come on guys, calm down, he says._

_Angry tears are stinging at the corner of my eyes but I refuse to cry because of Derek. I am stronger than that._

_If he is connected to the Alphas, we can use him, Peter suggests. He is obviously infatuated. If Stiles can get close to him-_

_This isn’t a game, Peter! Derek growls._

_I am aware, Peter deadpans. However, as appealing as the idea may seem, you cannot simply shove this boy against a wall, bear your fangs, and demand information. If he is working with the Alphas, they will protect him. Well, that, or they see him as disposable, in which case he probably doesn’t have that much value to us either. Our best option is to gain his trust._

_I can do it, I nod._

_Erica will do it, Derek insists. You’re done._

_My hands are clenched into shaking fists, but I can’t hit him. My head is swimming with arguments, but he won’t listen to them. I want nothing more than to scream at him, but I am just barely holding back tears and I will not cry over Derek Hale. I will not._

_Fine, I say, and I storm out to my Jeep without a look backward._

          “I don’t know, what did Derek say? I can’t really remember.”

          “He’s an asshole,” Scott says. “You were awesome tonight.”

           I manage to smile in spite of myself.

          “Yeah, well, distraction is my specialty,” I reply.

          I stop the car outside Scott’s house. The lights are on in the living room and I can see Mrs. McCall shuffling around inside.

          Man, I miss my mom.

          “I’ll let you know how it goes,” Scott offers.

          “You don’t honestly think I’m going to let him get away with benching me, do you?” I ask with a humorless smile. Scott’s eyes widen a bit.

           “Scott, my boy, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”


	14. Gears Start Turning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles puts her plan into motion. Lydia Martin returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to post anything new and I'm sorry. I caught up with my buffer just in time to be like destroyed by writer's block. I didn't want to post anything until I knew I could keep doing it. So from here on out everything has either been outlined or already written. 
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> (brace yourselves)

It seems that years of being marginally in love with Lydia Martin somehow doesn't keep me from being completely afraid of her, and by the time chemistry rolls around the next day I'm dreading it for more than just Mr. Harris and his poorly disguised hatred for all things Stilinski. I know Scott has noticed, but he refuses to ask. I told him that the less he knows about my plans to circumvent Derek, the better. I don't want all my hard work to go to waste over some weird wolfly sense of obligation between Derek and my best friend. The down side to that, of course, is that I have to do everything by myself. While it's not the first time this has been the case, it doesn't make it any less crappy.

          "So the plan starts now?" Scott asks nervously as we walk into chemistry.

          "What plan?" I ask. I'm aiming for joking, but then I catch sight of Lydia and she's looking devastatingly gorgeous as per usual and my voice comes out sounding like I've smoked for ten years. She's taken to sitting next to me in Chemistry since Harris separated me and Scott. My lab partner used to be Danny but nobody argues with Lydia so not even Harris questioned her seat change. I don't know why she did it. She hasn't talked to me since that first day when she just sat next to me except to tell me I'm doing an experiment wrong. At least that's what I think she's saying. She always pretends that she has no idea what she's talking about immediately after she corrects me. It's weird. Like, Jesus, Lyds, I know you're smart. Just frigging _be_ smart already. Maybe she thinks if people think she's smart they won't think she's as hot, but that's just ridiculous because to exist in a world where Lydia Martin is not considered smokin' hot would be a hell I cannot even begin to imagine.

          Scott, bless his heart, is actually confused by my denial of the plan's existence.

          "You know," Scott says, leaning over my shoulder and getting his wolfy cheeto-scented breath on my neck in his effort to be discreet, "the  _plan_."

          "Oh, right. The poison. The poison for Kuzco, the poison chosen especially to kill Kuzco, Kuzco's poison. That poison?" I wiggle my eyebrows at Scott and because he has been skillfully coached in the art of understanding my references, he rolls his eyes at me.

           "Could you please be serious for five seconds?" he asks.

           "History would suggest that no, I can't."

           With a smile and a tiny wave in Scott's direction, I make a beeline for my lab table knowing Scott won't follow, just glare.

            _Hello, Lydia. I was wondering what exactly I would have to do to get us to a point in our relationship where I could ask you for a favor because I need one._

   No, that's stupid. Don't say that. That sounds like the beginning of a porno.

_Sup, Lyds? I was wondering-_

           No, that won't work. There's no way I could get past the word 'sup' without dying of embarassment.

           When I take my seat next to her and still haven't come up with a terribly clever way to broach the subject (or any subject, really) with her, I start to panic.

          Dammit, I am Stiles Stilinski, wordsmith extraordinaire. I am basically Loki (minus a lot of the feelings and the whole giving birth to an eight-legged horse thing, but then again he totally also gave birth to a wolf named Fenrir and he may or may not have been a werewolf I don't know but there was a werewolf in Harry Potter named Fenrir so maybe I'm even more like Loki than I thought, but wait would that make me Derek's mom by association? I don't know if I'm okay with being a wolfmother. Hey, that's a band. I don't listen to it but i know of it. Maybe I should listen to them. I'll look them up when I get home and see if it tickles my fancy, but wait, no, if my plan goes well I won't get home until really late. Wow, that's an embarassing thought, and- oh wait my plan!)

          I open my mouth to speak before I have the chance to craft my words into a perfect and stunning masterpiece that will immediately ensure Lydia at least considers helping me, and instead I word vomit exactly what I'm thinking.

          "I need you to teach me how to use feminine whiles to get information out of a man."

          Wow. In a world of smooth things, I am a slip n' slide made out of silk. That's how smooth that was. God, she probably won't even want to sit with me anymore after that little miracle. Stupid! Dammit, Stiles!

          Lydia looks up from her phone and gives me a once over that takes at least a full ten seconds, by the end of which I am just trying desperately not to throw up I'm so nervous. 

          Then she smiles.

          "Stilinksi, I have been waiting for someone to ask me that for so long that I don't even care that it's you asking. Meet me at the mall after school. No, scratch that. I'll pick you up. I refuse to be seen in the vicinity of that horrible blue monstrosity you drive ever again. Aditionally, it will give me the invaluable opportunity to examine your wardrobe. Recent changes in your manner of dress suggest that you have at least encountered someone with good taste, though the frequency with which you wear the same outfits suggets that you still have a long way to go. We have a lot of work to do."

          "A lot?" I gulp nervously.

          She is already off typing wildly into her phone what I can only assume are her plans for me, and she doesn't even look at me when she replies: just nods and says:

          "Tons."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if Lydia comes off a little mean this chapter. She gets better. Promise.
> 
> Also I'm creating a playlist for this fic that I will probably post at the end in the notes. It's not done yet and I am always open to suggestions. If you have one, drop me a comment.
> 
> Also, thanks so much to everyone who has commented and left kudos so far. I love you all so much. You guys are the sunshine of my life.
> 
> TTFN


	15. He is My Green Eggs and Ham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia gets to work and we finally meet the good Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

          When Lydia sees the inside of my closet, all the color drains from her face and she lets out this dramatic gasp. And okay, yeah, I kind of expected that would happen, but I guess I got hopeful when she saw my beautiful red corset dress hanging on the inside of the door in my room and I got the highest praise Lydia Martin ever gives to anything:

          "Cute."

          So maybe I got a little over-confident. I figured, how bad could it be? I even cleaned out my closet a little before she got here so all of the things inside it are hung up on actual hangers instead of just thrown on the floor in the manner to which they have become accustomed. So I was feeling alright about things when she opened the doors to my closet. I'm not so much now because I... I think she's forgotten how to use words.

          Lydia raises her hands up towards my clothes slowly, but as soon as she's close enough to brush her fingers against fabric, she jerks them away like she's been burned. 

          "Oh God," she whispers. "It's even worse than I imagined."

          I move closer, trying to see what she finds so objectionable, but she shoos me back towards my bed.

          "I was just-"

          "Shh!" Lydia commands. "Say nothing. Do nothing. Touch nothing. I'm calling in reinforcements."

          "This is my hou-"

          "Shh," she repeats, holding a finger to her lips as she pulls out her phone with the other hand. "Stiles, I can't help you if you aren't willing to change. Are you willing?"

           I open my mouth to respond, but I'm not sure if I'm allowed, so I nod.

           "Perfect," she smiles. "Now you just sit back, relax, and try not to do anything unfortunate while I assemble a crack team to organize your first true foray into polite society."

          At this point I'm not entirely certain if Lydia's here to help me or to sharpen her skills in issuing passive aggressive insults. Either way, I think she could do better. I'd tell her that, but I'm still sort of shocked that she actually agreed to this so easily. I was fully prepared to beg shamelessly. Honestly, I'm a little disappointed that I didn't get to chance after psyching myself up for it.

          After a flurry of texting from Lydia that does nothing to ease my anxiety, her phone rings and she purses her lips at it before she answers.

          I know that it's technically wrong to listen to people's phone conversations, especially if you don't know them that well, but do those rules even apply when you know that the conversation is about you? When it's about you  _and_ it's being held less than three feet from where you're trying really hard not to have an involuntary muscle spasm but you can feel your muscles thinking about it and you're having a silent argument with them because you don't think you've ever sat this still in your life ever but you know you'll do basically anything to be able to rub your superior tactical skills in Derek's dumbutt face so you're kind of chewing the hell out of what used to be your nails but there's really not much nail left so you're just kind of chewing on your fingers?

          Okay, probably not. That's a really specific experience.

          So that means it's up to me to make the rules. And the rule I make is that it's totally okay to listen in on phone conversations that you know are about you.

         "You're coming," Lydia says in lieu of an actual greeting.

         "I have plans," says a defiant male voice from the other line. I know it's not Jackson, because he doesn't have the balls to say something like that. Well, not to Lydia anyway.

         "And now you have new ones," Lydia replies. "This girl needs all the help she can get and you owe me."

          I take about point five seconds to be offended before I realize that I was the one who came to Lydia and did, in fact, ask for her help, so I can't say much.

          "Remind me again, when did you decide to befriend Stiles?" asks the person on the other line.

          "She is friends with Scott who used to date Allison. Allison is my best friend and you simply don't let your best friend's ex-boyfriend's friend pander helplessly around the outskirts of social competence when with a little work she could very easily land herself a date with a second string lacrosse player. Maybe first if we do something with her hair."

         Instinctively I start running my fingers through my hair. It's okay, the mean lady didn't mean it. I won't let her near you.

         "Just because I'm gay, doesn't mean I know anything about shopping," the person on the other line sighs. Oh, well I guess it's Danny then. That answers that question.

          "I'm not asking you to help because you're gay," Lydia rolls her eyes. "I'm asking you because you're a walking Abercrombie commercial and you wear an Armani fragrance. Clearly you know what you're doing, whereas poor Stiles is completely unaware of her potential. If you can tell me honestly that you've never lamented her apparent subscription to Lumberjack Quarterly and I'll leave you alone."

          "I still have plans," Danny sighs.

          Lydia narrows her eyes. "Going to the Jungle and watching your ex dance with every man there under the age of 30 while you grumble into your ginger ale does not count as having plans."

          Danny sighs. "Fine, whatever, but you're paying me back for gas."

          "Make sure you get the Porsche," Lydia tells him with a smile and hangs up before he can answer. Then she looks over at me obviously expecting me to be impressed. I arrange my face into something I hope looks like approval and nod. She smirks.

          "Allison is coming over as well," Lydia says. "We may not even get to the mall tonight. I underestimated the amount of work to be done here."

          "If we aren't going to the mall then why did you make Danny get the Porsche?" I ask before I remember that I'm not supposed to say anything.

          Lydia shrugs. "Because that way Jackson can't have it tonight."

          Wow. I wonder if she thinks he'll cheat on her if he has a car. I mean, his parents have other cars; he could just drive one of them. Maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe they just like to hurt each other because they can. 

          The thought just makes me so sad for her and Jackson (less for Jackson, though, because he's a douchebag).

          "Alright," Lydia says suddenly, and it makes me realize we'd been sitting in silence. She gets up and walks to my dresser, obviously deciding that my closet is too much of a challenge to be handled by herself.

          She pulls open the top drawer (of course it's my underwear drawer because why wouldn't it be?) and doesn't faint from the shock of what she finds, so I suppose that's a good sign. She does make a tiny noise of dissatisfaction, though.

          "It figures that the only acceptable piece of underclothing you own has a hole in it and is therefore unwearable," Lydia drawls, she tosses the offending item, a bra, in my direction and I catch it. It's the Dalmatian printed one that Derek got caught in his jacket, and just as Lydia promised, there's a hole in the fabric just near the clasp. 

          I definitely do not run my finger over the hole and smile fondly at the memory of Derek's face that afternoon. That would be ridiculous. I do hide the bra under my mattress, though. Because it's new and I don't want to just throw it out. Definitely not because I'm pretty sure Derek still has the bit of fabric missing from it caught in the zipper of his jacket and the thought does weird things to my feelings. It's definitely not that. Derek has a stupid face and I don't care about it.

          Okay, I care a little, but only enough that I don't want him to die. It's not like I wanna have his babies or anything.

          His puppies.

          Do werewolf babies come out human or do they come out furry? Do they bark? Oh my God, the mental picture of Derek's grumpy wolfed out face en miniature on a baby is actually really adorable. I would totally pet the werebaby.

          But I will be no one's werebabymamma.

          I am pulled out of my thoughts suddenly when a t shirt hits me square in the face. Lydia, it seems, has moved past my underwear drawer and is now onto my shirts, tossing anything she finds unacceptable over her head like a mad woman. And seriously, she throws out nearly every shirt I own.

          "Lydia, I really appreciate what you're trying to do here, but what am I going to wear to school tomorrow?"

          "One crisis at a time, sweetie," she says as she moves on to pants. I didn't know you could object to a pair of jeans. I'm pretty sure everyone wears jeans. Still, she throws out all but one pair of mine (and the one pair she keeps hasn't fit me since I was twelve).

          By the time Allison and Danny arrive, the contents of my drawers are all over the floor and I have two pairs of pants, no shirts, and a secretly hidden away bra left to my name. My only hope for not pulling a Lady Godiva for the rest of the year is that she likes at least some of what she finds in the closet. Though, from the way she's eyeing it, I don't hold out much hope. The only clothes I know I'll be allowed to keep are the ones Peter bought for me. Suddenly I'm wishing I'd let him buy me more.

          I sneak quietly downstairs while the terrible trio starts in on the rest of my wardrobe. I just can't watch. It's too depressing.

          I just barely fight off the urge to eat a carton of ice cream with the thought that I might still be expected to try on clothes some time tonight and instead I eat leftover pizza and watch Project Runway because somehow I feel it fits the occasion.

          They're still working away when I'm three episodes in and my dad comes home with Thai food.

          "There are three strange cars parked in front of our house," he says searchingly. He keeps the food close to himself as if holding it ransom for whatever information I may possess. Damn him. He knows that food is my weakness. "Friends of yours?"

          "They're giving me a makeover," I say miserably. Dad looks at me as if I told him they were here to dye me purple.

          "What?"

          "I have taken a sudden and insatiable interest in the fashion industry?" I attempt. He is not convinced.

          "Is this about a boy?" he sighs.

           Only indirectly.

          "What?" I snort. "No! Don't be ridiculous! I just... uh... I really like fashion. Like designers and stuff."

          The Sheriff scowls. "Name five."

          "Uh... Armani?" I ask. He nods, then waits for me to continue but really that's all I got.  "W-Well, if I knew everything about it already I wouldn't be the student, now would I?"

          He sighs loudly. "Stiles..."

          "Dad..." I say, copying his tone. He narrows his eyes and I know there's only one way out. "Fine, yeah, it's about a boy."

          Dad grimaces. "And he doesn't think you're good enough with the way you are now?" he asks angrily.  

          "No," I assure him, "it's nothing like that. He doesn't actually know me that well."

         "So you're trying to get his attention?" Dad asks like the thought makes him feel ill.

         "Not  _exactly_ ," I say. "More like I'm trying something new and if he notices it then gee, that would be swell. If he doesn't... okay."

          "Okay?" Dad asks.

          I nod. "Okay."

          "Fine," Dad grumbles and finally,  _finally_ hands me my food. It's only a little cold but I'm so hungry that I don't care. I have the appetite and metabolism of the average high school sports team, and I thank God for it every day because food is wonderful. Food never lets me down.

          "Thanks, dad," I say.

          "But if you lose your head over some punk kid and start trying to be something you're not, I reserve the right to arrest this kid or at least rough him up a bit," Dad grumbles as he hands me a fork. I smile. I really love my dad.

          "Noted," I reply.

          Dad makes a good show of scowling at my choice of television program before he sits next to me anyway. Within minutes he's snorting in derision at the designers' creations.

          "That is honestly the ugliest dress I have ever seen," he says and takes another swig of beer.  When the next look walks, he groans, "Come on, that doesn't even count. I've arrested hookers wearing more clothing than that!"

          My dad has a deep-seated secret love for Project Runway that he doesn't like people to know about. When people find out, he says he only watches it because I like it, but when he started working late enough that he missed it he bought us TiVo. He says we needed anyway, but nobody really  _needs_ TiVo. I'm on to him.

          Nearing the end of the fourth episode, the obviously weary trio makes their way downstairs with for garbage bags full of what can only be my clothes.

          "Ugh," I groan. "Please tell me you're going to donate them at least."

          "Of course we are," Lydia assures me. "We're civilized people."

          "That's comforting, I guess," I grumble.

          "Oh, cheer up," Lydia says. "Tomorrow comes the fun part - buying new clothes."

          "You do know I'm not made of money, right?" Dad reminds me without tearing his eyes from the screen.

          "It's on me, Sheriff," Lydia says. My mouth drops.

          "Seriously?" I ask. I thought I was going to have to sell a kidney or something to pay for this.

          "I owe you one," she says casually, but the look she gives me is damn near grateful.  "Anyway, we're meeting tomorrow outside Macy's at 4pm sharp. Do not be late."

          "Wouldn't dream of it," I promise. She either doesn't catch the sarcasm or chooses to ignore it.

          "G'night, Sheriff," she nods toward my father who raises his head slightly in acknowledgement. She waves at me and drags her two lackeys out the door along with all my clothes. I can do nothing but remind myself that I asked for this. I don't get to complain.

          That being said, I avoid my room for as long as possible because I don't really want to know just how much they made off with. It's going to a good cause, though. So there's that. But when my dad goes to bed and gives me a stern parental look indicating that I really should too even though he doesn't say it out loud, I know I have to face the music.

          I pause outside my door and take a deep breath. "Brace yourself," I say. Then I push the door open.

          First of all, I don't think my room has ever been cleaner. Lydia must have found an old air freshener I never used because it smells like something flowery instead of like sweat and corn chips. It's all very calm. Too calm.

          I don't need to check the drawers to know they're empty now. I was there for that one. So, I walk over to my closet and slide the doors open before I can think better of it.

         And... yeah, there's like six things left. I swallow hard and close the doors without even checking which ones. That is a battle for the morning.

         I throw on the only thing resembling pajamas that survived the purge - a pair of cloth shorts and a shirt that I stole from dad's room on the way past. Take that, Lydia.

         If I reach down to check that the Dalmatian bra is where I left it before climbing into bed, it's only because I wouldn't put it past Lydia to check. It's still there. And if the fact that it's still there makes me smile, it's only from the thrill of getting away with it. I don't think of Derek before I fall asleep, because I never think of Derek unless I have to. Derek is an asshole and I do not like him.

          I do not like him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost entirely set-up. Sorry 'bout that. Next chapter we're back to the plot.


	16. The List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might not make sense at first. It's a bit of a change of pace.
> 
>  
> 
> Casually posting this two months after the last chapter...

Things I am not: A list by Grazyna Katherine Stilinski.

  1. I am not a werewolf. I do not have their super ability to sniff out trouble like police dogs sniff out cocaine in a junkie’s underwear. I do not have the ability to hear a person’s heartbeat and know that they are lying. In fact, that would have been a ridiculously useful talent to have in light of recent events, seeing as I could have called bullshit on Graham the Security Guard friggin _hours ago_ and been done with this shit instead of having to McGuyver my way out of his dumbass fake security jail before the Alphas showed up. Thank Jesus Graham the Security Guard is absolutely terrible at his job or I might never have gotten out of there (seriously, asshole, I’m the Sheriff’s kid – do you honestly think I can’t get out of any given set of handcuffs? Seriously. When I was nine and Dad had to take me to work with him because Mom was really sick and couldn’t watch me, I would just sit there for hours picking locks on handcuffs. It was that or homework.)
  2. I am not willing to sell out my friends for some dumbass love connection with some guy I barely know, _thank you very much_. So when Graham started to go on about how the Alphas were taking care of him and they would take care of me too, I was thinking about how to get the hell out of there instead of actually listening to his crazy bullshit. Bad call, apparently, because I guess Graham has anger issues (to match Matt Dahler patented control issues and crazy eyes). Being around the Alphas has clearly knocked a few screws loose in his tiny mind.
  3. I am not a damsel in distress. When Graham tried to attack me I beat that motherfucker off with a stiletto heel (I thought it was weird that Lydia insisted on teaching me how when we bought the shoes, but now I am so happy that my sort of friends are sort of completely nuts because I don’t know what I would have done otherwise). I would have gotten away too, except for the fact that we were in the lobby of his office building and all he had to do was shout to the five o clock crowd that I was trying to steal something and they caught me for him. It was hella unfair, sure, but at least with people watching Graham had to be on his best behavior and take me to fake prison instead of dragging me into a dark alley to never be heard from again. It’s the little things, sometimes.
  4. I am not, strictly speaking, a safe driver. At least, not when I was speeding away from fake prison in my Jeep with only one shoe on. Pretty sure I ran about six different red lights and scared the shit out of a poodle when I almost drove into his front yard taking a turn too fast. I didn’t, though, so there’s that. I just had to get to Derek. Fuck whatever his plan was. There’s a new plan now and it’s called ‘shit gets real’.
  5. I am not afraid of Derek Hale, no matter what he tells you. The looks he gave me when I barreled onto the Hale property and almost hit Isaac (sorry, Isaac), then told him I found the Alphas and they were probably chasing after me just rolled off my shoulders. Well… the angry ones did. I mean, for a few seconds he did this thing that was possibly Derek trying to look concerned? I don’t know. It mostly just looked like he was in harsh manpain for half a second before angry Derek was back and growling “Stay here” at me like it was even possible for me to go anywhere with one shoe on and in a dress that I still think is way too tight but Lydia and her minions seemed to believe fit just right despite my aborted lung function. Besides, my Jeep was almost out of gas since Lydia drove me to the mall last night and I forgot to fill up before I headed out this morning and really only made it to the nature preserve on the wings of good fortune and the prayers of skinny polish girls.
  6. I am not good at sitting still, especially not when I know that I am probably in immediate danger and I am under the protection/scrutiny of the infuriatingly calm and collected Vernon Boyd. So there I was pacing back and forth in Derek’s living room like a friggin lunatic while Boyd does the New York Times Crossword. Seriously, Boyd? It’s like I’m hanging out with the BFG. For reals. And of course I can friggin _hear_ his phone buzzing every time he gets an update from Erica about what’s going on. But he just glances at his phone and deletes the message before I can even properly sneak around and try to look at it. Damn him. Every time I try to ask about it he just says, “Everything’s fine. Try to calm down, okay?” And I want to say, “FUCK YOU YOU CALM DOWN” except that wouldn’t make sense and Bod is actually really lovely and I shouldn’t yell at him when in reality this is all Derek’s fault. Okay, that’s a lie, it’s definitely also my fault, but we wouldn’t have shit on the Alphas if it weren’t for me. But if somebody gets hurt that will be all my fault. JESUS, no wonder Derek is such an asshole. He has to worry like this all the damn time. Poor bastard. Fuck, what if Derek gets hurt? Oh my God, what if Derek gets hurt and he dies and I never get to tell him that I totally understand why he’s such a dick all the time? I know he’ll just ignore me because that’s just what he does but it’s important. He thinks he’s this lone wolf but he’s not. Lone wolves don’t have a Stiles. Lone wolves don’t have someone to piss them off and ignore them when they growl and call them on their bullshit and see those stupid moments when he actually feels a real emotion and immediately scowls at it almost like his body is going ‘ewww, feelings’ and it’s really fucking adorable but I’d never tell him that because he’d look at me like I’d just told him the sun was green. GOD DAMMIT when did Derek Hale become this important to me? That asshole. Now he has to be okay because I have to yell at him for making me care about him.
  7. But I am not in love with Derek Hale. Oh no. So maybe I really honestly care about him, so what? That’s not love. I don’t want to be in love with him. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s not something you can fix, Stiles. He’s a person. He’s a friggin person with issues and fucking superpowers. You really don’t even know that much about him and you probably never will because he doesn’t let people in. He’s emotionally stunted. He doesn’t need your help. He hasn’t asked for it. He doesn’t want it. This is it. After this, you leave him alone, got it? You leave him alone because if he wanted you around he’d say so and until he does you need to stay away from him.
  8. ~~~~~~I am not in love with Derek.~~
  9. I am not allowed to be in love with Derek.



 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La la la...
> 
> So hai. I'm back then...
> 
> heh heh...
> 
> Sorry it took me forever. :(


End file.
